


body to flame

by thalassashells



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Fantasy Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Eating Disorders, Other, closetedish trans character and one out trans character, declining tethe'alla au, kratos is there. vaguely. doing his shady stuff, mild horniness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29889570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalassashells/pseuds/thalassashells
Summary: Tethe'alla's Chosen of Mana and his guard set forth on his pilgrimage. Their first goal, as always, is the sorcerer's ring .(mostly an au sheelos piece set, as is in the tags, in a declining tethe'alla)
Relationships: Sheena Fujibayashi/Zelos Wilder
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	body to flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bigendernightmare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigendernightmare/gifts).



> gift for my friend bigendernightmare but extremely self indulgent as well. what are friends for.

When Taiga told Sheena that she had been assigned as the Chosen’s personal guard, her heart had stopped in her chest.

_(“What? Why me?” She asks, struggling to keep her voice calm and professional. It doesn’t really work._

“ _A sign of goodwill.” Taiga explains, pouring her another cup of tea, “Chief Igaguri has no children of his own, but you are his named successor. In the eyes of the throne and our laws, you are his grandson.”_

“ _But I’m a girl.” Sheena says, though the phrase feels incomplete in her mouth. A little pride twinged in her chest as Taiga had described her._

“ _Meltokio is willing to overlook such things in important cases. The Chosen is a woman as well, should you remember, but he has taken his father’s mantle.” He says. Sheena bites back a correction – he’s not a woman – Taiga would only see her defense of Zelos as arrogance._

“ _...So I’m his bodyguard?” She moves the conversation along._

“ _Yes. You’ll ensure his safe pilgrimage.”_

“ _And you think I’ll succeed?”_

“ _Chief Igaguri placed his faith in you, and you are strong. You will live up to his expectations.” He states as though it is fact, her victory written in stone by a ghost._

_It is a cold comfort.)_

Sheena breathes in, holds it for ten long seconds, and forces the breath out for another ten seconds. Her brain is no quieter, but her body stops shaking.

She stands outside the Meltokio cathedral, flanked by a priestess around her age and an older looking mercenary, and waits silently for the ceremony within to complete. When Tethe’alla flourished they would have assigned a papal knight to the task before stooping to swords-for-hire, but a knight could not be spared from guarding the city in times like these.

It has been hours thus far. The priestess has turned to fidgeting with the beads hanging from her robes, but the mercenary is content to stare into space for as long as he was permitted. Sheena is busying herself with worrying.

It has been a month since they had any time to see each other, and now she would be marching him away forever.

Eventually, he does emerge. With the pope at his side, Zelos steps silently down the cathedral stairs in full regalia. His hair is braided with white silk ribbons and he wears a long, white gown detailed in Martelite turquoise and crossed with a Meltokian red sash that marks him royal property. Around his gold-bound throat, the Cruxis crystal gleams a lurid crimson. He’s an emblem of a richer age, surrounded by worn buildings and plain clothes.

The mercenary, the priestess, and Sheena take a knee. Sheena gratefully takes the opportunity to bow her head and hide the anxious pallor that covers her face. Zelos rests his hand – covered in jewels deemed holy – on each of their heads to pass on Martel’s blessing.

He recites a hollow prayer. Sheena pretends not to notice when he lingers on her and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

–

They are two days into the journey and Zelos has not spoken a word to her. She has cried three separate times, thought about and then neglected to start a conversation four, and screamed into a bedroll once. It woke the priestess up, and she apologized and refrained from doing it again.

On the second night, as they make camp near the temple that contained the Chosen’s first trial, Zelos finally speaks to her.

“So, this is a fun little trip, isn’t it?” He asks with a bounce in his voice, like nothing’s strange.

Sheena looks up at him from the fire she’s tending, “Zelos...”

“That’s me!” He smiles without his eyes.

“Why haven’t you been talking to me?” She snaps and nearly drops the poker with which she’s arranging firewood. Embers jump dangerously close to her face.

He sits down next to her, carelessly smearing dirt across his white gown. “When did you try to talk to me?”

Sheena is silent for a moment. She pokes at the fire again to watch it pop. “...I didn’t know what to say.”

“There’s not a lot _to_ say.” Zelos shrugs.

“Then why are we talking now?” Sheena pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her chin atop them. Zelos leans back on his arms to look up at the temple before them, white stone jutting high into the cloudy night sky. The sigil painted above the door is peeled and faded.

“Tomorrow, we’re getting a relic from in there. Some kind of ring, I’m told.” He explains dully, “Think it’ll look good on me?”

She scoffs, “It’ll be as gaudy as the rest of them.”

“Don’t I make gaudy work?” He pouts, twirling a strand of hair around his finger. His rings and choker glint in the firelight, revealing their tarnish more than their brilliance. Sheena imagines taking them off one by one, touching his hands and throat unadorned.

“You look as stupid as always.” She surmises.

He laughs, infectious, and she joins him. Through the evening, as they talk, she commits the shape of his face to memory.

–

The mercenary takes the lead as they enter the temple. Zelos asserts his place next to Sheena, though the priestess protests his preference for one not sworn to the church.

It is a ruin inside. What used to be grand tapestries and rugs are rotted away, cobwebs the size of people span from pillar to pillar, and vegetation has forced its way through the cracks in the brick floor.

Zelos takes an exaggerated step onto a crawling crack, “Do you think that’s bad luck?”

“I hope so.” says Sheena.

Soon enough, the hall gives way to wide room and an eerie sight: a door of interlocking circular panels, wholly untouched by time and glowing with magic. Blue light forms the shape of three curled, feathery wings, held in the center by a wide open eye.

“Creepy...” Sheena mumbles.

“This is a holy place. Hold your tongue.” The priestess replies.

The mercenary says nothing. Zelos is staring at the sigil blankly, his humor drained in an instant. He scrapes a nail across his Cruxis crystal. Sheena discreetly rests a hand on his elbow.

“So,” He announces, as if speaking loud enough will dispel the shake in his voice, “How do we get in?”

“You- you don’t know?” Sheena turns to face him, “Aren’t you the Chosen?!”

“Yep! And I don’t know.” He smiles.

“It is a trial, Chosen. You must discover the answer for yourself.” The priestess explains as though she’s said it a dozen times – knowing Zelos, she probably has.

“Can we help him?” Sheena asks.

“We can. But only he can open that door.” The priestess points.

Zelos takes a few hesitant steps towards the magic barrier, and his Cruxis crystal glimmers in anticipation. With one finger, he touches the eye at the center of the sigil and it pulses golden light. The door remains closed.

“My holy presence isn’t enough, I guess.”

“Maybe there’s a key?” Sheena suggests, “The eye is open. It might need to be closed.”

The four of them separate to explore the rest of the room. It is lined by long tables, each holding a series of statuettes. They are as eroded as the rest of the building, and discerning the subjects of each is a difficult task. Beneath each one is a woven mat featuring the same eye as the one on the door.

Sheena recognizes a few figures as she investigates, running her fingers across them to find details: the finned ears of Undine, Eefreet’s massive claws, Aska with only one head as the other had come loose with time. The next is a sphere decorated with jagged lines that lead into a spiny crown – Volt. She recoils quickly and moves to the final figure. The dark room should disguise her rapid breathing. She hopes.

The last is Martel. Her arms are folded in prayer, though the delicate join of her wrists has snapped away. Only a stub of the staff that rests on her back remains, and her head is completely smooth except for a single closed eye that takes up the full width of where her face should be.

As she is about to announce her findings, Zelos speaks from across the room: “Got something.”

“Me too.” She says, and picks up the statuette. It is heavy, but easily carried in two hands.

They meet in the middle: her holding the statue out before her, and Zelos lazily holding one of the mats up between two fingers like it is rubbish. The priestess takes his hands and rearranges it so that he is holding it out fully, to display the closed eye woven upon it.

“Looks like a match,” Sheena says, “but what do we do with them?”

“They are for guiding the eye. Meet it face to face.” The mercenary says. The other three look up in shock, as it is the first time he’s spoken in the entire trip. Before a single one of them can ask ‘ _how would you know?’_ he has already turned his back to continue watching the entrance.

“Face to face, huh...” Zelos says, looking between the figure and the tapestry. He throws the cloth into Sheena’s already full hands, and smiles wryly as she fumbles to catch both.

“I could have dropped it! Stupid!” Sheena barks, clutching the two items together like a vice.

“It’s already busted, honey. Who cares?” He giggles, but is quickly silenced by a vicious glare from the priestess. With a world weary sigh, he continues: “Anyway, you need to put it on me.”

“On you?”

Zelos walks up close to her – too close, by any sense of propriety – and takes the statuette from her hands. Holding it close to his chest, he kneels with his head bent low.

Sheena stares down at him. Is this how she had looked the day they left? So hopelessly deferential? Carefully, slowly, she grips his chin and tilts his head up to face her. She could swear there is a hint of a blush on his cheeks that is as vivid as the spark of fear in his eyes – both reflected in her.

As a mercy to them both, she drapes the cloth over his head like a veil. The white blends seamlessly with his robes, and the closed eye renders him a perfect copy of Martel in his hands.

Sheena guides him to his feet with her hands over his, and turns him towards the door. He is silent with the veil on, his steps absent of personality. He cuts a ghostly figure before the door, vibrancy stripped away for holiness.

Facing it, and holding the statuette to his chest, the eye responds. It closes slowly and the surrounding wings fold in and fade away. The whole room shudders, dust cascading from the ceiling beams, old wood creaking with the effort to stay together, and the door rolls open. At the same time, the one behind them closes.

Behind it lies a deceptively simple altar. It seems older than the temple around it, built first and worshiped later, and glowing above it is the ring Zelos had mentioned the night before. It is gold and flawless and adorned with a red gem just like his Cruxis crystal. Sheena wonders if he can see it through the veil, or if he even wants to.

Zelos gives no indication either way as he approaches the item. He sets the statue down on the pedestal and the ring floats into his open hands as if in exchange. It ceases to shine as it touches his skin.

Everyone waits for Zelos to do something. He does not move.

Sheena, bypassing the warning look from the priestess beside her, marches up to where he is and rests her hand on his elbow again.

“We can go now.” She says.

Zelos turns with her, and they walk together to the exit.

–

The veil had given them safe passage from the temple, and Zelos did not speak or remove it once they returned to camp. He had sat silently during dinner, and then retired to his tent.

“He is in prayer.” The priestess assures Sheena, watching her watch Zelos as he walks away.

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Sheena asks.

An hour later, the sun is setting, and he still has not emerged.

Sheena is about to have to intervene.

“Zelos, I’m coming in.” Sheena announces in a stage whisper. In her hands is a wrapped box of sugar candy that she had packed for herself. It isn’t ‘real food’, but it might be tempting enough to get him to open his mouth. Before all this, they had often needed to coax each other to eat when they had been too long without food.

He doesn’t reply.

She finds him curled up with his knees to his chest in his private tent – the only private tent among their group. His hands are still folded against his chest, and given that the ring is nowhere to be seen, it is enclosed in them. The veil, at least, has been tossed away.

If her eyes aren’t deceiving her, he’s crying.

“Hey there, sweetheart.” Zelos sniffles and looks up, “Here to help defile my holiness?”

“I – no! Why would I even – why would _you-”_ She stammers, trying desperately not to imagine him on his back, robes pulled away, laid out for her – Oh, why does he do this?

He tries to covertly wipe his eyes on his sleeve while he  chuckles. Sheena sets herself down next to him and shoves the candy in his face.

“Eat.” She commands.

“Why?” Zelos rolls his eyes.

“Because you need to.” She presses harder.

“Not for long.” He scoffs.

Silence grips the air. The light box of candy suddenly feels like a stone in her hand. Zelos just looks at her, a miserable grin still plastered on his face. While Sheena didn’t know as much as him about the process he was set to undergo, she knew enough to want to vomit.

“Then eat while you still can.” She insists.

His eyebrows rise. Zelos  seems to decide it’s too much effort to continue this particular volley. 

“...Fine. Give me a green one.”

“They all taste the same.” Sheena opens the box, searching for a green one regardless.

“No, the green ones taste like ‘green.’” He emphasizes, and plucks the one she’s fished out from her hand to pop in his mouth. She takes a red one – as she knows it tastes the most like ‘red’.

“ Are we gonna talk about it?” She asks with her mouth half full.

“No.” He replies.

“ So you actually just want me to  _defile_ you?” Sheena smirks, reveling in the way he jumps just slightly.

Unfortunately for her, he has nothing to do but take the bait.

So Zelos leans in and grabs her hand. His hands are cold, as usual, and she sits in silent shock.

With the other, he produces the little relic and slides it onto her ring finger.

“There,” He smiles, barely an inch from her face, “now it’s not  _defilement._ ”

Sheena may just burn up from the inside out. If she doesn’t respond, his blow will be fatal.

So she kisses him. He lets out a muffled gasp against her lips, then returns the kiss with ferocity. It’s all too gentle, and too long to be a taunt, and too burning to be the first time they’d thought about it.  He still tastes like candy. 

They part, flushed. Confused. Hot in their stomachs.   


“Uh.” Zelos says.

“Yeah.” Sheena replies.

They look around the tent, avoiding each other’s eyes. Sheena finds herself stuck on the ring she’s now wearing.

“...I can take that back.” Zelos says ruefully as he reaches out to her hand.

“No.” Sheena snaps her hand away, “I want...I want to keep it.”

“Why? It’s a piece of  old  trash.” He furrows his brow.

“I’m your guardian. I should use it to watch over you.” She asserts, “And it’s a promise.”

Zelos crosses his arms, “Now, a kiss isn’t a promise.”

“Not that.  It’s a promise we’ll have that candy again. When your pilgrimage is  over .” 

“Don’t mess with me.” He frowns.

“I don’t mess with people. I’m not you.” She narrows her eyes.

The anxious calculation of his gaze makes her writhe.

He kisses her again. Shorter, this time, and when he pulls away she leans forward to chase his lips.

“It’s a promise.”


End file.
